


Dark Intentions

by SwordDraconis113



Series: Muddy Waters [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Eaters, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 12:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13501952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwordDraconis113/pseuds/SwordDraconis113
Summary: Daphne's survival in the Malfoy Manor depends on her ability to charm the Dark Lord into seeing her as more than just a traitor's daughter.





	Dark Intentions

Daphne was lead down the long hallway, past painted generations of Malfoy witches and wizards. They looked down at her, whispering and ducking through their portraits as Master Nott directed her deeper into the underbelly of the manor. Daphne didn’t listen to the portraits. She listened instead to the click of her heels on the wooden floor, softened by the emerald rug that extended down the hall. 

Under her robes, she could feel her wand, pressed between her sleeve and skin. She would need it, Master Nott had assured her of that when he’d taken her from dinner. Her mother had been horrified.

But Daphne didn’t question why. She rose, against her sister’s protests –– quickly quietened with a look from Master Nott –– and allowed herself to be apparated to the manor.

The Malfoy Manor was dark; only the spark of _lumos_ and floating candles lit their path. There were no windows in this hall, not even bewitched ones to give warmth to the home. In the distance, a golden light spread out from a doorway, far, on the left. Shadows flickered along it and as they grew closer, she could hear a voice, indistinct, whispering.

She drew in a breath as Druella Black stared down from a large portrait, at the end of the hallway. Her hooded eyes looking down a long nose.

“Your father’s a coward,” she spat. “Dishonour on the Greengrass name.”

Daphne turned her head away, holding a placid expression to feign deaf to the woman’s words as she was taken to the Malfoy formal dining room. In truth, the words gave her something to expect.

As the door creaked open, everyone turned to face her as Mister Nott took his place in one of the goblin-made dining chairs. Daphne quickly glanced over the room: Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy flanked either side of their son. Bellatrix sat on Narcissa’s other side, grinning widly. Crabbe and Goyle’s fathers sat opposite the Malfoy family on the dark wood table, beside the Lestrange brothers. Finally, Lord Voldemort stood at the head of table, behind the spine of his chair, where Daphne’s father sat, sunken in the seat like a slack puppet.

Daphne clasped her hands behind her back. As her eyes caught her father, she dug her nails into the palm of her right hand and breathed in. She couldn’t let a tremble escape her, she was better than that.

She bowed, first to Lord Voldemort and then to the Malfoy’s. Bellatrix snickered, but made no further comments, instead turning to eye her with interest. 

“Do you see that?” Voldemort spoke, lifting her father’s head to see her. “Your daughter knows where manners are. Well done.”

He was pale, her father. His eyes were red and sunken in his face. The muscles over his jaw were slack. Never before had Daphne ever seen even a hair out of place from her father, and here he was, near-death.

She dugs her nails in harder.

“Tell me, dear girl. What do you feel for your father?”

Daphne stared at her father, before drawing her eyes up to Lord Voldemort. She could feel him in her head, like fingers searching through a cabinet. _Don’t lie_ , she thought. Lord Voldemort just stared at her. 

“He’s made a mistake,” she answered him. “He has brought shame to our household.”

Lord Voldemort chuckled low behind closed, thin lips. The Death Eaters, too, laughed similarly and it seemed to Daphne that the sound trembled through to the marrow of her bones.

She remained quiet, her expression unchanging even as she caught her father’s stare, hollow and vacant.

“Have you ever cast an Unforgivable Curse?” Lord Voldemort asked her.

Daphne felt blood spill beneath her nails as they punctured skin. “No, my Lord,” she answered.

“Have you seen one cast before?”

“Yes, my Lord. In my fourth year at Hogwarts.”

He smiled at her then and Daphne knew what was to follow soon. “Ah, yes. Barty Crouch Junior had such promise,” he said. “It was such a shame what happened.”

“Yes, my Lord.” She answered. She had both liked and loathed Professor Moody at the same time. The latter had been towards his outward polyjuiced appearance. When she had discovered, by gossip, whom he had been, she’d been left uncertain of her feelings. He had been their best DADA teacher, until Professor Snape. His treatment towards the student body had only served to hold his cover.

“I see you’re not at school,” Lord Voldemort said. 

“No, my Lord. My father decided homeschooling was the best option.”

“And do you think your father is better than the teachers at Hogwarts.”

“Some of them,” she answered. Voldemort made a show of looking surprised.  

“Is that so?” he said. “Well then, let’s see how well your father has taught you.”

A tremble escaped her control. She shifted the bloody hand, dragging the palm against the spine of her cloak before digging her nails further up her arm. “What would you like to see, my Lord?” she asked.

Crabbe and Goyle both had leant forward to see the excitement. She watched as Lord Voldemort stepped away from her father and gestured to whimpering form. “How about a fair punishment to your father?” he decided. “Show me how well he’s taught you. Perhaps it’ll be his saving grace”

Daphne looked into her fathers eyes and watched as he muttered and whispered, shaking his head. She closed her eyes, thought of Astoria’s red-rimmed eyes and produced her wand from an indigo sleeve. 

Drawing in a breath, she glanced to Lord Voldemort and watched his piercing eyes stare, a satisfied smirk on his face despite what would follow. She made her decision then. 

Daphne pointed her wand to the end of the table, hissing the word with every inch of anger and hatred she had towards her father, “Crucio.”

The green light crashed into his chest. Her father convulsed, and then cried out, his scream breaking through his throat as agony twisted his limbs. She held her weapon, pushing and pushing the anger, letting it fester like a necrotic disease.

Until, “That’s enough,” came as a calm dismissal from the Dark Lord.

She dropped her wand and drew in a breath, looking to Lord Voldemort. His smile was no longer directed to her, but to her father. “That,” he said, “it was I expected from you: absolute obedience. Perhaps I should have your daughter finish the task?”

Her father whimpered, his eyes turning to look at her. He pressed against the chair, murmuring rapidly under his breath and Daphne turned away, catching Draco’s eyes. His eyes were wide, just as sunken as her own father’s, just as red, just as scared of her.

“Remove him,” Lord Voldemort said. Nott rose and hoisted her father to his feet, half dragging him out of the room. Daphne didn’t move. She stood impassive, staring into the emerald velvet of the chair, feeling nothing wash over her. There should have been something. Some shame, guilt…enjoyment, perhaps? But there was just _nothing_.

“Lucius, call your house-elf to set up a room for Ms Greengrass. I expect she’ll be staying here for a while.”

Lucius nodded, whispering hoarsely, “Flinter.”

The house-elf appeared with _pop_ , shivering –– no, shaking –– as it looked up to its master with grey, watery eyes. “Yes, Master Malfoy?” it spoke with a wheezy-high voice as its ears hung low, shivering with fear.

“We have a new guest staying with us. Set up a room for her.”

Flinter looked from Lucius to where Daphne stood. “Yes, Master Malfoy,” it said, before disappearing with another _pop!_

Daphne watched as Lord Voldemort gestured. “Narcissa, I believe I’ve interrupted the young girl’s dinner. Perhaps you should take her to the family owl so she may writer to her mother and send my sincerest apologies.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Narcissa rose from the table and Daphne watched as her hand brushed against Draco’s chair. She walked over with a tall, straight back. She was dressed in beautiful blue robes, with her hair pulled back from her face. Her expression was much smoother and practiced than Daphne’s as she walked over and lead them both out through the hall where Druella’s portrait hung.

“Hmmph,” was all Druella said.

They walked in silence, until they reached the foyer where a large, dark wooden staircase stood. “Upstairs,” Narcissa directed. Daphne nodded and began walking up the tall, grand staircase. On the wall, at end of the grand stairs before it split into two seperate staircases, there was a great window expanding across the length of the wall. 

A great, velvet curtain had been pulled back, to allow the moonlight to spill over the stairs and slip over the perpendicular walls. 

Daphne’s eyes caught the landscape outside of the window. The Malfoy gardens were prominent and rich. In the dark, she could see an enchanted maze where something horned moved through it. Great flowers bloomed underneath the stars and dangerous plants swayed in the night breeze. In the centre was a water piece that Daphne could not yet make out.

“You will survive this. It’s in our nature,” Narcissa spoke. Daphne turned to look at her. The woman’s expression hadn’t changed, as if the words had never been said.

They didn’t speak again.

Daphne looked around the room that Narcissa had shown her to. It was small, by her usual standards, but there was a large, four-poster bed and a wardrobe. The window faced the eastern side of the house and overlooked the maze. It had been opened with the curtains pulled back to allow a cool, autumn breeze to air the room. The wardrobe and bed were a matching walnut wood, the floor was carpeted and everything was quite pleasant by pureblood standards, and entirely clinical compared to own room.

None of her spellbooks were there, her parchment didn't reside upon a desk. There were no posters or art upon the wall and everything was just a stark reminder that she was a guest (prisoner) rather than someone who was meant to be here. This wasn't home. She wasn't even sure how long it would be until she was home. 

Narcissa then lead her to the owlery, allowing her to write to her family. Daphne had chosen to write to Astoria, explaining the situation in as few words as she could. She was certain that Astoria would be able to work out what was being said between the subtext, though she had no doubt that the owl would be intercepted between the Malfoy Manor and the Greengrass Home, as such, she had been careful with what she had chosen to write. Astoria, although young, was smart enough she hoped. Nonetheless, her mother would certain pry the letter from her sister's hands and deduce the words that her sister fumbled over.

In the letter, she had also requested clothes to be sent over –– no more than a week's, but with a tidy sum so that she and whomever her escort would be, could visit Diagon Alley and accumulate a necessary wardrobe for the occasion. Despite most shops have been closed due to the war, there were still a few, confident enough of their loyalties within the pureblood community to remain open. There were a few others whom stupidly remained open out of defiance, too, but that was hardly important. 

As always, Gringotts would remain open if she were in desperate need of coins. With the Goblins refusing to participate in "wizard business" as it were, they would keep their usual hours, confident in their holdings keeping them safe. Neutral partizans, they referred to themselves as. No doubt, completely oblivious to the irony. Nonetheless, the Dark Lord was certainly attempting to recruit them the same way that Dumbledore had been before his death. Goblins, vampires, merpeople. Infamously anti-wizard, repressed ‘creatures of the night’ who would be happy to watch the Wizards destroy themselves rather than take part in a war that was of little benefit to themselves.

Narcissa took her back down to the room and without so much as a nod, closed the door behind Daphne. The door clicked as it shut, a sound that could have been a _lock_ but didn’t quite sound like the scrape of metal closing into place. She didn’t dare test the door, it was an answer she wasn’t quite ready for.

A small pop signalled the arrival of a house elf. It appeared with a tray of food, setting it down on the bedside table. "Mistress requests that you remain here while the Dark Lord finishes his business. You'll be able to see your father tomorrow."

Daphne waved her hand in dismal, eyeing the goblet of wine and plate of warmed food. The Malfoys were frightened of her angering the Dark Lord if they had to send some bleeding House Elf to remind her of respectability. As if she’d be so stupid as to wander down now and peer in on their ‘private’ meeting.

Perhaps the door wasn’t locked in place then, or perhaps Narcissa left nothing for chance.

Once the House Elf had left with a wave of her hand, she began picking at the food, drinking the offered wine and watched as outside of the eastern window, the white peacocks wander around the grounds. Every inch of her wanted to disappear out of this house and go home, ensure that her little sister was safe, but she wouldn't. She would be a good girl, a loyal servant of the Dark Lord if it so required to keep her family safe. There was nothing that she wouldn't do.

She had no idea where her father was being moved to, but she would wait until someone granted her access. In truth, her anger towards him only grew as the situation deepened. How could he not have just followed orders? Done what was necessary and right to keep their family safe –– as she had.

Narcissa's words ran through her thoughts, _you will survive, it’s in our nature_. So it was, she decided. Perhaps men were the weaker sex. Easily she had risen her wand and pointed it at her father, prepared to do what was necessary to ensure their survival. How difficult was it for him to do the same? As difficult as it had been for Draco, perhaps? She could still picture Draco's pale face, his eyes wide and frightened of her. Could he have perhaps never been in such a situation? 

Last year, he had been so distant, so frightened. Pansy had gone from angry to fearful for him, and Daphne had just watched him waste away. Had she known what was happening here, had she really considered it, maybe she would have done something.  

Anger took her then as she realised, no, she wouldn't have. If she had really known, she would have snatched Astoria and taken her far, far away from Britain and this war. Gone to Japan, Romania, or South Africa –– anywhere that didn't face the Dark Lord slowly driving the pureblood families into war. Fucking Potter should have destroyed him years ago, or died trying, leaving no hope for the opposing side so that the Dark Lord what have what he wanted. They all would have been happier for it. Narcissa was certainly right, women would endure.

Fucking men.

She wished there was something she could destroy with her hands, someone else to tear down, to snap words at and verbally destroy. She wished she was back at Hogwarts, safe and far away from this war where her biggest problem had been finding the energy to do her classes. But Hogwarts wasn't safe, no where truly was safe. Not for long.

A knock sounded at the door. Daphne turned and faced the opening door where Mister Nott stood. "Apologies if I disturbed you. The Dark Lord wished to ensure that you were recipient of his hospitality."

Daphne smiled, stepping away from the window and smoothing down the dark robes she wore. She could feel her wand, still within the sleeve –– she always kept it close by, now. "I feel flattered by his concern," she said, hoping to sound polite and sweet. "The Dark Lord must think my family so weak by my father's actions, it is a great kindness for him to treat me as seperate to him. I hope that there's at least something I can do to ensure our loyalty for him in return."

Mister Nott's face gave way to a pained expression before he smiled. Daphne wondered if she had overstepped, or if his concern was just simply out of some strange idea that she was just a weak, innocent girl. Perhaps too young for this. She wondered then if Mister Nott had any daughters, or if he was thinking of his own son, whom probably resided safe away in Hogwarts just as this moment, or if he was just remembering his own time at being a youth at seventeen, converted to the Dark Lord's side.

"I will make sure that he's aware," he said. "If you wish, I could show you to your father."

"Thank you," Daphne said, "But I think it is best if he's allowed some time to...recover, as it were. I’m sure he wouldn’t wish to see me at the moment.” She paused then and smiled, allowing a pregnant pause to come between them in the room as Mister Nott looked as though he wished to reply to her with something important, but had chosen not to. Clever man.

"Good night, Ms Greengrass."

"Goodnight, Mister Nott," she said in return. "I expect I'll be seeing you tomorrow for breakfast, then?"

He nodded, confirming her suspicions before he turned away, closing the door behind him and leaving her with her solitude once again. 

Once he had left, Daphne sat on the end of the bed, wondering if she was expected to stay in the room or if she had access to the bathroom down the hall, or perhaps if she was expected in the morning to remain in her room until she was called down, like a prisoner. No, she refused to be a prisoner. She would do as she wished within reason of what was expected of a proper guest. 

But, as it was late and wandering the halls of a manor in the late hours wasn't polite, she didn't leave her room, choosing instead choosing to slip out of robes into the guest sleepwear that resided in the wardrobe already –– because the Malfoy's had always been the perfect hosts –– and climbed beneath the charmed, warm sheets. She left the window open, listening to the noise of birds and strange whisperings that came from the Malfoy Maze. 

She slept restlessly, waking up twice in the night with a tight fear in her chest. Both times, she refused to open her eyes, but instead made herself tiredly reach back to sleep for another few hours. 

She awoke at dawn for the third time and gave up trying to sleep. Instead, she grabbed a set of clothing that had been placed away in the wardrobe by a House Elf (her mother must have sent it as soon as the letter arrived) and headed down to the bathroom. She bathed in a porcelain tub with clawed feet, the bathroom pleasant, but void of any familiar touches. Her head sunk beneath the depths of the tub, until her face was far beneath the water’s surface and she opened her eyes up at the ceiling.

The water shifted the world, her vision blurred by the filtered light. She could still see her long hair strung around her like seaweed beneath the waves, floating in the gentle movement. Here, within the water, the world felt both louder and quieter, brighter and darker. 

When she was in fifth year and had first learnt the bubble charm, she had spent an age in the prefect bathrooms, letting the water consume her waking moment. Once or twice horrible Moaning Myrtle had visited her, but it hadn’t been difficult to send her away. A few quick, precise comments, and the girl disappeared down the drain.

Daphne had loved the prefect bathroom, until a comment had been raised in wonder at what she _did_ in that bathroom that took so much time. As if boys understood the goings of a woman in any sense.

Pushing her head up from the bath, Daphne drew a breath and eased herself out from the tub before began the process of sinking beneath the waves, once again. 

Out of the tub, she dressed, drying her herself with a simple spell, and combed her hair, allowing it to lie straight, pulled back from her face in nothing less than a tidy style. Then, she dressed in sky blue with gold inlay robes –– treading the fine line between respectability and decadence. She slipped her wand up her sleeve in its designate spot before tugging down the sleeves of her robes. _There_ , she thought, looking into the vanity mirror on the bathroom. _The very picture of an eligible pureblood woman._  

As she headed downstairs, Daphne considered what she should be doing for the day. Should she be attempting to see her father now, or should she wander around the Malfoy Library?

She chose neither, but instead decided to wander out in the grounds to where Narcissa had her own garden of flowers on the north-eastern side. A beautiful garden, completely harmless to any visitors who may come to overlook it –– including any ministry visitors whom may come over to ensure that no laws were being broken. There was a small gate, meant only as decoration that she opened past the waist-high shrubbery that was just now dropping its summer flowers.

The door squeaked, showing the little care that was been spread to the gardens, as well as the cast of dropped flowers amongst the path. She could even spot a few noxious weeds growing. 

"What are you doing here?"

Daphne looked around a rather old jacaranda, looking to where Draco stood beside a garden bed of some golden flower not two metres from her. As he always seemed to be in Hogwarts, he was leaning against a tree (an oak, she suspected), though his arrogance had diminished to tiredness. 

Smiling, Daphne stood tall. "Good morning, Draco. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You shouldn't leave the house," he said.

"I only came for a morning stroll," Daphne said, pretending to be completely innocent of any faux pa she may have made. "I had thought your mother's garden was public. She had said it was when I last visited here for Christmas. Although I suppose that much can change in two years.”

Draco scowled. "You shouldn't have left your room," he told her. "Aunt Bella is still awake, she could ––"

"Could what, Draco?" Daphne asked. "I'm sure Lady Lestrange is far too busy with the war to go in hunt of a young, pureblood woman taking a garden stroll."

Draco shook his head. "You don't know anything," he said. "This isn't Hogwarts, with teachers who have duties that they rather be doing than bothering with the likes of us. This is war, and Aunt Bella..." he trailed off. "Aunt Bella wasn't displeased by how you obeyed the Dark Lord."

Daphne blinked, ”She wasn't 'displeased', shouldn't that be a good thing, then?"

Draco shook his head. "No, it's bad, Daphne. It's very bad. The more you're being noticed by them, the more they'll expect you to be...to be _doing_ things."

"So?" Daphne said. "You **do** things."

“Yes, _yes_ for --" he stopped, swallowing the words as his eyes darted around the garden, "for the Dark Lord," he said instead.

"And why do you think I'm here? To woo you?" she said with a raised eyebrow, "I'm here to please the Dark Lord, just as you are. In case you haven't realised, my father has displeased the Dark Lord, which makes pleasing him all the more important and difficult for me. But of course, that doesn’t bother you at all, does it? You’re far too concerned with your Daddy to realise that other people have to work just as hard to ensure the Dark Lord can see their loyalty."

Draco paled. "It's different. You know nothing of what it is to be under the Dark Lord's eye."

"Is that so? Last I saw, you were an only child. Must be awful for it to only be directed at you and not the ones you care for most. Must be _truly_ terrible for the threats to only reach so far.”

“You don’t anything about me,” Draco scowled at her again, “You don’t…” but he shook his head, leaving the sentence unfinished as walked alway from her, out of the garden. Screw him, she thought to herself, a dangerous anger pulling at her before she drew a soft breath and allowed it to wash away. She had more important things to do than play around with Draco and stroke his fragile ego –– Pansy had always been taken to that job anyway. 

Daphne stopped and focused on the pretty flowers. There were small pixies playing around, flying a-top of bees and declaring war upon one another, as they were prone to do. Few took any notice of Daphne, and those that did swore they would destroy her if she stepped any closer to the flowers. Professor Sprout had always disliked dealing with pixies, but they were a necessary evil, she would say, in the upkeep of a fine, wizarding garden. Able to deal with the more vicious plantations that would capture unsuspecting insects who were supposed to be pollinating gardens. 

Pixies, or rather, common garden pixies, were small enough to use flies and bees as mounts, but often had the problem of declaring war upon one another. They often made their home in the trees that hives were found, and were particularly vicious if they made their home near wasps. 

Once upon a time, Daphne had fancied herself someone who would have a great garden, filled with different pixie clans. She would keep a beehive and grow the most beautiful flowers. That had all dried up around her second year of Hogwarts when Herbology had become one of her least favourite subjects –– simply because Professor Sprout refused to let them use magic in the greenhouse. For a good reason, Daphne supposed, but doing manual labor was not a favourite of hers. She much rather spell or charm her way out of ordinary tasks.

Still, she rather enjoyed Narcissa's garden. The garden was intricately designed, and despite the fey's noise (always around dusk and dawn, so Professor Sprout had said), it was still peaceful. The scents of the flowers were neither overwhelming nor too delicate that they tickled at her nose, and the size of many of the plants left the garden to feel isolated far away from the house. Like a private world.

She could still see the manor between the large trees that acted as a barricade on the north-western side, but it was hardly a problem. Unlike Hogwarts, the Manor didn't back between a Great Lake and the Dark Forrest, but rather on the country side with open, rolling hills and small cluster of trees that stretched only for a kilometre or so. In her younger days. Her, Draco, Pansy as well as Crabbe and Goyle, would often wander in the woods, looking for any 'dark creatures', though there never were any to be found. 

There were a few fey about. A few naturally growing plantations that were not particularly safe, but there was nothing awful. 

However, being in a pureblood area meant that they could use magic as they liked around the woods and the Ministry wouldn't be able to tell whom it was. As such, they were always free to practice magic, experimenting with things such as duelling or complex transfiguration. Draco had always been one to show off his own ability, growing fiercely jealous if anyone showed any skill superior to him, as such, Daphne had been obsessed with finding and practicing magic to ensure his jealousy.

At school, Granger had been the cause of Draco’s jealousy, but there, in the woods, it was her. And when Daphne had stolen Pansy right from underneath Draco’s nose, well, that had been all the sweeter for them both. Never would Draco know what it was to pluck the woman’s chastity, if such a thing truly existed.

She missed Pansy now, and Millicent. The two girls had been fun and toxic, ease to bring to anger against unsuspecting targets. The three of them had stood as the very image of Slytherin women, with Pansy as the Queen, Millicent as the brute force and Daphne as her shadowed advisor, barely noticed by the crowds. 

It was all for nothing in the end. Just petty torments to make the day go by. 

Turning around, Daphne decided it was time to return to the manor before someone realised she was gone. However, just as she was making her way out of the garden, she noticed Bellatrix stalking out from the maze, a big, wide smile on her lips. Her hair, a mess of curls, appeared to be more disarrayed with a few leaves, and her pale cheeks appeared reddened by whatever activity she had completed. Her arm, however, appearing to be bleeding.

_Interesting_ , Daphne thought. Though she didn’t allow the thought to continue further than that. That maze had been warded against any rebellious teens from entering since Daphne’s first visit to the Malfoy Manor. Always she had wondered what laid inside, and always Draco had warned that he would never choose to enter there.

Perhaps she would soon find out.

Daphne returned to the manor and made her way through the ground floor until she ran into a rather tall, large woman whom Daphne knew to be her mother’s cousin. 

“Well, if it isn’t the little nymph,” Alecto Carrow said. “You’ve have to do more than that to impress the Dark Lord, girly. Your father has made _quite_ the fuss. Cousin-dearest should probably go upstate to avoid the epicentre of the Dark Lord’s displeasure.”

Daphne felt a tremor slip down her spine, but she held her fear deep inside of her, refusing to allow her second-cousin the satisfaction of knowing she got under her skin.

Alecto sniffed, turning away and entered through a door that Daphne suspected lead to the kitchens. With her absence, Daphne felt her a cold, creeping feeling that lead only to the singular nightmare she had been plagued with the night before. 

Shaking her head, she cleared the image and continued down the maze of hallways until she found the room she had been searching for. An informal dining room that had a set of plates laid out. There, she found Narcissa acting as hostess, with Mister Nott sitting formally at the table across from Yaxley and Lucius who were in a quiet discussion.

Mister Nott looked up and smiled at her, nodding his head to invite her over. Daphne made her seat beside him, smoothing over her skirts and placed a small, polite meal onto her plate. There were still a few seats available, though Daphne assumed that many of the ‘occupants’ in the house were casual guests making go-betweens here and where the Dark Lord had requested their attention to be.

“Tomorrow,” Lucius said, answering a question Daphne hadn’t heard. “Fenrir is sure he can track the girl.”

“They’re searching for something, are they not?”

“Mm, something indeed,” Lucius said. A quiet drew before Lord Malfoy turned his attention to where Daphne was. “You mentioned your father removed you from school,” he said, drawing the conversation to her. “Surely his entire time wasn’t spent teaching his daughters?” There was a joke there that Daphne wasn’t privy to.

As such, she took her time in swallowing her food and then used the serviette to clean at her clean face. “Well, of course he was quite busy,” she answered him. “He had taught me some things myself, and my mother is quite adept at charms, but I have a collection of books I’ve been pursuing myself.”

“Yes, you and Draco used to be quite competitive over Charms, if I recall. Though he seems to think your marks are not to worry about in against his own.”

“I find myself often unchallenged by the Hogwarts curriculum,” Daphne replied. “It makes it difficult to motivate myself into doing well with all the other assessments I had.”

Before Lucius could respond or ask another question, the dining door opened, slamming against the wall as Bella walked in, “ _Cissy!”_ she snapped. Narcissa rose quickly, discarding her cutlery upon the porcelain. “Cissy, where the bloody hell is your potion collection?”

“My po… _Bella_ ,” Narcissa said, looking at her sister’s arm before she strode over to grab at the bleeding limb.

Bellatrix snatched it away. “It’s _fine_ ,” she said. “There’s just a minor case of poisoning. I need that potion you keep. The small blue one.” Bellatrix appeared almost dizzy on her feet, but her grin was wide and feral as she stared at Narcissa. “Well?” she demanded when her sister blinked in surprise.

In front of Daphne, Lucius shook his head as he took a few more bites of the bacon and egg he had on his plate before he wiped his hands and mouth clean, rising from the table with a sigh. “I can take your sister to where we keep our collection of antidotes.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll take her,” Narcissa said. “It’s this way, Bella,” she said, guiding her sister back through the doorway and presumedly up a level to the second floor. Lucius looked from the food on his plate, back to the doorway and then sighed again. Muttering about _suicidal intentions_ before he left out the doorway, heading the opposite way to sisters.

The room became very quiet then as Mister Nott remained on her left, saying not a word as he ate. Then as Daphne went to place her cutlery down, he nudged her. “Eat while you can, the Dark Lord will be returning for dinner. He’ll want to see you again.”

Daphne frowned, feeling nausea slip through her gut and turn her belly sour. Nonetheless, she ate a few more mouthfuls in silence before she rose from the table. Her intention was to wander through the grounds again, picking through memories of a childhood that seemed a long way away.

“Ms Greengrass?” Mister Nott called, stopping her. “Do be aware that leaving the grounds by yourself isn’t permitted just yet. For your own safety, obviously.”

“Of course,” Daphne agreed, feeling as though a key had been turned into a lock and that she was on the wrong side of the door. “It’s a pleasure to be visiting the Malfoy home, why would I wish leave?”

“Quite so,” Mister Nott said, resuming his food without another word.

Daphne left the informal dining room, feeling sick. Mister Nott had always been a family friend, to have such a casual regard to her prison made Daphne wonder if there really was a friend amongst the Death Eaters. No, she shouldn’t wonder too much. She would only make herself sick with fear. Rather than thinking any further on that, she turned her thoughts onto Lady Lestrange’s bleeding arm, and her causal mentioning of _poisoning_ requiring a little blue potion. Had Daphne paid half the acquired attention in potions, she may have known what it was for. It didn’t matter, all it would take is a reasonably detailed book of modern antidotes to know what it had been for.

Though, given Bellatrix’s state, it didn’t take much to realise that it had _something_ to do with that maze. Daphne wanted desperately to enter that maze, and not just to know what captivated the attention of Bellatrix Lestrange, though it was an intriguing question. Was it to be a creature or plant that had attacked her? Had she gone in for bravery or curiosity? Daphne’s mind rattled with possibilities.

In her fourth year, she had watched the Triwizard Tournament with Draco and Pansy, absolutely fascinated by the maze stage. When she had asked Draco then if the creatures inside the tournament’s maze were what were inside the Malfoy Maze, he had shook his head, muttering that the Malfoy Maze was much worse. There had been no bravado, no casual lie that he had accomplished the maze easier. Only fear.

It drove Daphne insane with curiosity to know what was so particular about that maze that Draco feared it and Bellatrix desired to frequent it. 

Daphne wandered the house instead of the grounds, coming to an open door that lead to a parlour room. Inside there was a lounge suite set before a fireplace and coffee table, with an array of bookshelves around the back and what looked to be a piano. Daphne walked over to the piano, made of a dark, red wood, and drew her fingers over the ivory keys.

Then, sitting down at the piano, she began to play a tune. Something easy, at first, steadily moving into the more intermediate songs –– she had never cared for the more complex songs, though she could play some of them. She preferred the intermediate, relaxing songs that she could shut her eyes to.

At home, they had a piano, not too similar to this one, and just as finely tuned. She had spent many hours under an instructor, learning to play the instrument so that she could then learn the charms to have the piano play the songs. Her mother had wanted her to learn violin, but the piano was a lovely instrument that she had been drawn to, and filled with just as much regal elegance without the downside of calloused fingertips from the strings.

The music drifted over her and with it, Daphne felt her anxiety become a disembodied emotion, far beneath the surface of her, rather than constant nagging, jittering thing that was just beneath her skin.

She felt hands pulls her fingers away. Opening her eyes, she watched as Narcissa closed the lid of the piano and gave her a firm, disapproving look. “You shouldn’t let people realise that you’re capable of playing it that way.” The way she said _that way,_ like it was despicable, made Daphne feel a rather great sigh pull in her lungs. 

She had never been one to understand why some pureblood traditions remained. Surely, showing off skills playing the piano shouldn’t be something that was done in secretive. They didn’t always have to look down at different ways just for the sake of holding up an image that they could do everything by magic –– certainly, the entire image was often a false creation as to authentically play any instrument through magic, one was required to know _how_ the song played out within every key and there was no better way than to learn than to play it manually. Not _everything_ manual had to be ‘the muggle way’.

Narcissa gave her a stare made of icicle and turned around. “Perhaps you would be best to remain in your room, if you’re unable to be an appropriate guest.”

_Absolutely not_ , Daphne felt determined to say. There was no way in any world that she would be forced to remain in that small room with nothing but a window to look out upon the grounds of. If she was to be a caged animal, she wanted the cage to be as wide as the grounds.

“I will keep that in mind,” she said in way of reply, ensuring that her tone was gentle and not as harsh and gritted as she felt like spitting. She was not some child, but the eldest daughter to Greengrass name, a well-respect woman of excellent calibre. Her father was a well respected Unspeakable in the Department of Mysterious, and her mother was an intelligent woman of equally fine breeding.  She was, undoubtedly, a grande prize for any eligible pureblood bachelor.

Not that she desired being such a thing. Did anyone would really desire to be a pretty prize? The wealth and status of their husband, maybe. Admiration and envy of other women, but just to be a worthy prize?

Narcissa had left the parlour, having only turned up like a knowing mother from thin air to scold and leave, probably to chase after her sister and ensure she didn’t go around do any more damage to her garden.

Daphne sighed, smoothing down the skirts of her robes as she considered what she could do in the Malfoy Manor that would cause Lady Malfoy’s icicle stare to rain down upon her. She could take to the private library on the third floor –– though that seemed to be a breach of some social etiquette until she was formally invited by a resident of the household.

She could read in the parlour, she supposed. It was, after all, engaged with public reading material of a particular worth. There was nothing contemporary and mainstream upon the shelves, such as a Gilderoy Lockhart book (though he appeared to have disappeared from most store shelves). Rather the bookshelves were filled with old novels of limited reproduction, or a collection of journals from a witch of wizard of minor blood kinship to the Malfoys.

There was nothing here that stood out and demanded her attention, though a few compelling spell books rested on the shelves that offered information for interesting crafts. A book of flowers that related to Narcssia’s garden (pure cosmetic) and another on common dark creatures (fifth year level creatures, though a few more interesting ones as she flicked through the pages). Daphne drew her attention over them, considering the idea at an attempt to placate her desire to accomplish something where, apparently, musical expression was out of the question.

Ultimately, Daphne took to a journal of a magizoologist of the fifteenth century by the name of Dinah Rosarie. The journal detailed her trek through the silk road, under the guise of a male, as she met with traders of muggle and wizarding kind alike –– being of course that magic had been far less hidden around that period of time, and often explicitly in the open.

Though wand making was a prestigious art that lead many witches and wizards to still using the more chaotic form of wandless, non-verbal magic that was more unpredictable than its more present, focused use. Potions were far more desire in that time, though being a good potions master was still a highly desired skill. 

Daphne flicked through the journal, skimming her eyes when she grew bored until she found a keyword that drove her back into reading. There were select part that held her interest, but overall she found herself uninterested by the life and times of Dinah Rosarie. Her fascination for new plants and creatures that were widely known now, was quite a dull thing to read.

“Ms Greengrass.” Daphne looked up from the journal and found herself facing Mister Nott again. “As it’s nearly lunch time, I think it would be best if you came with me.”

Daphne set the journal back where she found it and rose to Mister Nott’s side. He lead her down the hallway, up a set of stairs and to where she could only presume her father was.

There, he opened the door and allowed her entrance. Daphne felt her hands begins to shake before she drew in a breath and then nearly gagged at the sour stench of sickness. She exhaled, and drew a shallow breath, looking for a way to remove the smell –– but there were no windows in this study, only dark walls, with portrait paintings that stared down, quiet in their judgement. 

Daphne felt her hands shake harder. She reminded herself that she had nothing to fear of her father –– if anything, he had everything to fear of her.

Mister Nott pushed open the door to bid her entrance, and allowed her into the room. It was dark, lit by only a few, small candles that floated in the corners of the room. There was large desk, with a matter of copper clockwork upon it, and a what looked to be a rather large hourglass in brass holdings. There was not a bed in the room, but rather a small, leather lounge that could not be pleasant to sleep upon. Upon the couch, rested her father.

His face was just as gaunt as it had been the night before. Just as pale. His eyes were red-rimmed and there was a dull whisper coming from his breath.

“Papa?” she whispered, stepping closer to where he laid before fear paralysed her. She swallowed, looking to where Mister Nott stood with a grim expression “Did I do this?” she asked him.

Mister Nott shook his head. “He was tortured excessively before you arrived,” he explained. “There was nothing you could have done to prevent that. It was the Dark Lord’s will.”

Daphne stood, staring at her father. “This is the price of disobedience,” she said. 

“This is the price of failure,” he corrected. “Even if it’s beyond your own ability to perform the task set out for you –– the Dark Lord does not approve of failure, nor does he appreciate someone in his inner circle whom is unable to perform a set task, no matter how impossible it may be.”

“What task did he set for my father?”

“That’s not important,” he said. “What is, is that your father has failed quite spectacularly. The Dark Lord will request your loyalty upon any and all incoming matters because of this. It’s important that you do not hesitate in the tasks if you wish to have access to outside of this grounds.”

Daphne turned, meeting his dark brown eyes. The unsaid question on her lips formed into a small ‘o’ as she drew in a breath and then exhaled, not letting _what about home_ escape her tongue. The very choice of his words had said everything. She would not be returning home anytime soon. She would be remaining as a captive in the Malfoy Manor, just as Draco and everyone else seemed to be, until the Dark Lord grew tired and merciful.

Daphne’s heart came to a shuddering stop, before she then felt it beat again. The Dark Lord would do far worse than kill her if she failed. There were things more frightening than death.

“Now you understand,” Mister Nott said. He then pulled out a pocket watch from the breast pocket of his robes and eyed with speculation before pocketing it once more. “I believe it’s time for lunch,” he told her. “Let’s leave your father to rest.”

Daphne turned around to give her father a last look before the door to the Malfoy Manor shut, leaving him alone in the darkness, and her with an uncomfortable realisation that she was capable of a broken heart.

They went down the stairs, down the hallway back to where the informal dining room was. Draco sat at the table, Narcissa fussing over him eating as they walked in. Daphne refused to allow the fear to wash over her again as she allowed a tilt of her lips and entered the room, Mister Nott a step behind her.

“Do you not have somewhere else to be?” Narcissa asked. Daphne blinked, uncertain for the direction of her words until Mister Nott laughed.

“Your sister was meant to help me choose someone until she chose to go running into that damned maze of yours and get poisoned.”

Narcissa sniffed, “she’s perfectly capable of bringing in a captive. You can go and wake her up, if you wish.”

“I would prefer to keep my wand arm. Thank you, Lady Malfoy.”

Narcissa looked away, her head tilting just enough to let him know that she was looking _far_ down her nose at him. She then turned back to her son and pulled away from forcing a plate of food upon him, choosing to sit back in her own seat and then with no sense of irony, she began to pick at her food in the same way Draco had been.

Daphne sat down across from Draco, placing food onto her plate, ensuring she had enough to at least sate any nausea. She doubted she could stomach any food at dinner if it meant she would be dining with the Dark Lord. His infallible gift of legimency would no doubt be used upon her one way or another. If she were at least free of feeling hunger, he may be less inclined to be suspicious of her.

Or perhaps, more inclined.

A sense of dread filled her. For the first time in a long while, she felt at a complete loss. More so, she felt…she felt… _terrified_.

Having faced her father made her realise that He could commit the same act on anyone else she cared about. He could bring Pansy into the fold –– whom would certainly die –– or Astoria. Fifteen-year-old Astoria who should be busy with school and girlhood crushes. Her worst moment should be fighting with a friend or failing some bullshit assessment, not facing the Dark Lord.

Daphne looked up to see if Mister Nott was still there, but she had missed his exit from the room. Instead, Mister Goyle took that moment to enter the room, sitting down at the table across from Narcissa and before filling his plate with everything within his reach.

Narcissa shot him a glare, but whether he was immune or oblivious, Daphne couldn’t tell.

Daphne drew in a breath, ignoring the man beside her and looked at the two people across from her. They were, in a sense, her only hope of escaping here.

“Lady Malfoy, I wish to send my admiration towards your garden today. I had the pleasure of viewing it this morning,” she informed the Malfoy Matriarch.

“Yes, Draco mentioned,” Narcissa replied, looking to her son and sharing a silent comment with him that Daphne was not privy to, before her eyes returned to Daphne’s. “Like all my other guests, I do request that you advise me of your comings and goings in the garden. Some the plants require a delicate ecosystem,” she said. “Undisturbed from the comings and goings of guests.”

“And what of the maze?”

“Enter at your own risk,” Narcissa said, placing an end to the conversation at once. Daphne nodded, as was polite and then proceeded to avoid eye contact as a sinking sensation of dread filled her. She had made a mistake.

“You don’t want to go in there, anyway,” Goyle said, beside her. “’s just for muggle hunting, now.”

“Muggle ––?“

“Mister Goyle,” Narcissa said, her tone the same cool, dangerous voice as she’d used in the parlour room, “I would advise against private affairs being discussed around a traitor’s daughter.” _Traitor._ Daphne swallowed at the words. What did Narcissa mean by _traitor?_

“Nah, she’s alright. I can tell, she’s nothing like her Pop, are you girlie?”

Daphne did not smile. She tilted her head in recognition and thanks for his words, but she did allow herself to smile and encourage any of the words to be said again. 

“So will there be a new event, tonight?” Daphne asked. “Is that what Mister Nott is to accomplish in his mission?”

Narcissa’s stare turned upon her, though she didn’t say a word.

“Yup!” Mister Goyle said. “Too bad my boy’s at school. He would have loved it. It’s great fun, you get them corned in between –– well, I shouldn’t say too much. ’S not a pleasant thing to discuss at a table for food.” He grinned at her. “If you’re lucky, you might get to participate. Might even be better then lil’ Draco, eh?”

“It’s not a task that witches are usually apart of,” Narcissa said. “I would be surprised if she were to be invited to such a bloodsport.”

“Yeah, well Bellatrix and Alecto are in it. Don’t see why a new-en can’t join in, eh?”

Daphne felt a spark of interest at Bellatrix’s name, wondering if her being in the maze had something to do with _setting up_ for the muggle hunting? Something dark and dangerous certainly lurked within there, perhaps she was preparing it for the hunting grounds. 

_Hunting_. Daphne blinked, clearing her head of the thoughts. Narcissa was certainly correct. It would be unlikely that someone like herself would be involved in such a cruel, perverse form of sport. It was all very masculine –– something that both Bellatrix and Alecto did appear to have in common with other the other wizards. She could picture neither settling down with a husband and popping out children, managing their husband’s funds around small, profitable investments.

Not that she could figure that for herself, though that was for an entirely seperate issue.

“Have you visited your dear, old dad?” Mister Goyle asked her then. Nausea returned in Daphne’s belly as she remembered her father lying down, muttering incoherent words to himself as if no one else was in the room.

“Yes,” Daphne said, choosing not to lie. 

“Fuckin’ mess –– ‘scuse the language.”

Narcissa sniffed, a sneer upon her mouth at the use of foul language under her roof.

“He was not well.”

“It’ll pass. He’ll be in tip-top shape soon enough to finish his task now that you’re here, eh?” Mister Goyle said, smiling at her. Daphne didn’t like it when he smiled at her.

“I didn’t realise he would recover,” she said, making passing conversation as she looked over to where Draco was, his face pale, his food pushed away.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Draco said, taking to rising from the table. “I have some things to attend to.”

“Don’t forget to be there tonight, eh lil’ Drake? The Dark Lord noticed your absence last time.”

Draco paused and then left, making no comment or indication that he had listened at all in what Mister Goyle had said. Daphne wished it was as easy for her. She would not have minded rising from the table and leaving. As it was, she waited until Mister Goyle had had his fill, his words going on about this or that, euphemisms for torture always on his tongue, with muggleborn hatred quickly spilling.

Daphne returned the conversation, as was polite, and noticed that Narcissa remained there, as if she were nothing more than a charmed statue. Listening and yet entirely unseen by Mister Goyle –– Daphne wished she had such an ability as to fade in the background. Directing a spotlight onto herself had never been a problem, but hiding in the shadows had. Subtly was not a tactic that came easy to her. 

As it was, Mister Goyle up and rose quite suddenly when he noticed the time, running off to chase after _something_ he didn’t dare say aloud. With that, Daphne went to rise when Narcissa said, “follow me,” in a tone that left no compromise.

Daphne followed Narcissa, down a hall, through a room and into another hall before she found her self in the Eastern Wing of the ground floor. The doors opened into a cozy sun room, filled with tall glass window and a box-seat that looked out at the eastern hills. The room, by being on the eastern side, was of course cast in shadows, but it looked upon a lovely view of rolling hills and the edge of the woods. 

The room was a muted shade of a tawny colour against an opulent purple and green. “I’m sure you remember this room from your many visits in the previous summers,” Narcissa said as, with a flick of her wand, she moved furniture around. 

Daphne thought upon it, until she recalled that the room used to be in shades of yellow with a particularly dated wallpaper that had been restyled to fit the new decor.

“There’s a private study in the adjoining room,” Narcissa said, pointing to a closed doorway. “It contains a selection of books that was appropriate for Draco’s study during the years. I would advise taking care with the books, but I’m sure you’ll be able to keep up-to-date with lessons in this section of the house.”

Daphne’s mouth parted, unsure if Narcissa was hiding her away for her own good, or for the Malfoy reputation. She wanted to ask what Lady Malfoy had meant by calling her ‘the daughter of a traitor’, and why she acted so cool towards her when once, years ago, there had at least been a sense of genuine civility between them. However, none of the questions she wished to ask were appropriate for a pureblood witch to speak, so instead she nodded and made a mildly pleased comment about the room, as was expected, with a few bland compliments thrown in, which too were required by social etiquette.

Narcissa called a house-elf who recovered writing implements for her, and a pitcher of pumpkin juice to drink while she studied, setting out a single glass with a plate of sandwiches upon it (cheese and cucumber, because they were an acceptable “light meal”).

“If you grow tired of studying, there’s a staircase on this side that will lead to the guest rooms.”

With that remark, Daphne became sure she that this was a pretence to hide her away from the comings and goings of the Death Eaters. She still couldn’t decide if it was safety or reputation –– but then again, why couldn’t it be both?

“Thank you, Lady Malfoy,” she said. “Your hospitality is always a warm welcome.”

Narcissa gave a curt nod, before taking her leave, pulling the door shut behind her. Daphne  wandered around the room, examining the scenery from the windows, lounging upon the furniture before she took the library, pulling a few interesting books free. She studied some of the material, as was expected. And then did some research of her own, flicking through books on the more dark creatures to discover any lurking creatures that may take to the Malfoy maze. With the Ministry of Magic under Death Eater control, it wouldn’t matter if containing such creatures was considered _illegal._ Muggle hunting certainly wasn’t.

A queasiness grew in her gut at the thought. _Muggle hunting_ , the word seeming like a surreal connection of words. Her parents had always spoken in low whispers over _muggles_ and _filthy mudbloods_. But hunting them? It felt so…perverse. She didn’t allow herself to delve about it any further, choosing instead to turn her mind back into the books.

Daphne worked until the sun had dipped far over the other side, and the sky on the east had turned a deep, wondrous blue as the first few stars began to spark. It was then that the lamps began to glow in the room, emitting a low-level light but Daphne had grown bored of the study and its wealth of knowledge meant for Draco’s study –– rivalled easily by Hogwarts’ library (even if there was a far more interesting library a few floors up that Daphne was so curious to wind her way into).

Daphne left the study, the pitcher of half drunk pumpkin juice and a platter of untouched sandwiches left for the house elves to whisk away the moment she left. Her books returned to their shelves, and a tidy amount of parchment, inkwells and quills set aside for tomorrow.

She considered Narcissa’s careful words about the stairwell to the guest floor, and decided against the use of it. Not because she wished to disobey the Lady Malfoy, but because she rather felt like a stroll in the evening light. After all, she was a guest in this household, not some prisoner whisked away into hiding before the Dark Lord visited. 

There were a few doors that lead outside throughout the manor, Daphne took one that was dangerously close to the kitchen backdoor and went out into the night’s air. It was cool outside, verging on a chill. A gentle wind brought a cooler breeze that stung her cheek and threatened snow in the not-so-distance future.

It was only autumn, yet the world felt as cold as her chest did.

She wandered across the great lawns, to where the forest crept against the barrier on the Malfoy land. The short walk eased the growing tension in her limbs, but it wasn’t enough. Drawing out her wand, Daphne considered a good, steady spell to cut at a tree’s limb, or blast it from the bough, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Not because of fear for repercussions, at least, not in a clear-cut way. There was a social etiquette to stand by and destroying some tress in a forest would certainly go against that.

So would leaving the manor when in such few words, she had been forbidden to step outside.

“My, my, what do we have here?” a voice said behind from behind her.

Daphne turned around, eyes wide open to stare at none other than Lady Lestrange. “Good evening,” she said in greeting, managing to swallow back a stutter. She hadn’t heard even a single blade of grass move –– how had she’d done that?

The answer was obviously by magic, but still Daphne couldn’t shake the wonderment in her chest.

“If it it’s the eldest Greengrass,” Bellatrix said, before making a tsk, tsk noise at her. “I am certain dear Cissy had meant to hide you away from us.”

“I’ve been studying.”

“ _Studying_ ,” she said in mock surprise. “Do we have a daring little _bookslut_ here?”

Daphne felt her mouth part in a small, simple ‘o’, before she shut her jaw, sealing her lips. Never had she suspected that _Lady_ Lestrange would dare to say such words out in the open. But…perhaps Bellatrix didn’t care. She didn’t care about social appearances in that way, not like Narcissa did. She didn’t even really care about _appearance._ Right now, she stood in front of her with her dark curls in a wild mess, her robes were clean, but they were not _presentably_ by pureblood standards, especially with her corset on the outside of her robes, the hem of shirt not tattered, not hemmed either.

“Cat got your tongue?” Lady Lestrange asked, a wicked grin on her lips as she stepped closer. Daphne felt every inch of try to step back before she snapped her intimidation away. She would not move. She would not be menaced. She was the eldest daughter of the Greengrass line.

“Lady Malfoy mentioned that you may be with Mister Nott on a trip,” Daphne said, thankful she didn’t stutter. “Have you returned from your endeavours?”

“‘Endeavours’,” Bellatrix said, tasting the word. “Hmph. I suppose it could be referred to as that.” Her eyes glinted like coals in a hearth. “Did you wish to hide away in your room like my _dear_ nephew while we compete for glory with the new _endeavour_?” she asked.

“Well, I am not currently within my room, am I?” Daphne dared to say. 

At once, Bellatrix was before her, her tall frame looking down at Daphne’s much, much shorter self. A shiver ran down her spine and Daphne found her breath swallowed in a gulp as she resisted the stutter that begun to form on her tongue.

“Is that so?” Bellatrix asked. “You should be careful with that mouth. Might get you _awfully_ noticed by people around here.”

Daphne felt her eyes go wide, unsure if the words said were a threat or otherwise. Nonetheless, she found herself unable to respond. There was no fast quip, no ready reply. Just a deep thud, thud, _thud_ of her heart, loud in her ears as she looked into Bellatrix’s dark eyes. 

She nodded, once and Bellatrix’s mouth pooled into a large, wide grin that bared her canine teeth. “Good girl,” she said, her voice a low purr that seemed to run down Daphne’s spine. “I’m sure you’d make a good sport in our little games.”

“Sport?” Daphne let out in an exhalation before she could prevent it.

Bellatrix began to grin before the smile slipped away, her brow pinching briefly before her face snapped to a tight, neutral expression. With a dark look, she turned over her shoulder and looked over to the distance as if someone had called her away. Without so much as a head turn to Daphne, she began walking stalking away, a dark scowl on her face, her footsteps heavy and loud against the grass. Whatever had been the sudden, quiet call, it didn’t appease the Mistress of House Lestrange. 

 


End file.
